Tuesday evening, I cut open the hand cream tube I thought was used up

On Tuesday evening I got home from work, washed up, and came out to find the backs of my hands white and flaking. Lately my hands crack quickly even from just doing the dishes. I took the hand cream out of the drawer and squeezed, but all I got was the sound of air leaking out, and nothing came. I pressed once more, and it was the same.

That was exactly how the whole day had gone. I tripped over my words twice in the meeting, skipped lunch, and dozed on my feet in the subway on the way home. All day long I had only been squeezing something out from inside and using it up, answering that I was fine whenever someone asked. So it felt as if all that was left now was a hollow sound. I thought about throwing the tube away, but I sat down at the table with it in my hand. The few steps to the trash can felt far today.

A hollow sound doesn't mean it's empty

I opened still().

It is because of the LORD’s loving kindnesses that we are not consumed, because his mercies don’t fail.

Lamentations 3:22 (WEB)

The word "we" caught my eye. Not just me, but we. Kindness and mercy are given as the reason we are not consumed. It was true that I felt completely worn down today. The sinking feeling in my body on the way home wasn't a lie either. But that feeling was a leftover amount I had estimated all by myself. For today, at least, I wanted to set down the job of deciding whether anything was left. The words "not consumed" sounded like words that keep the day from stopping at the conclusion that everything is used up.

I pressed the tube with my thumb, and the bottom was flat but the neck still seemed plump. I took the kitchen scissors out of the table drawer and cut the tube across its middle. About a finger joint's length of cream was still there, white. It had been pressed and trapped near the opening. The cream I scraped out with the tip of the scissors had a faint scent of lavender. I dabbed a little onto the backs of my hands, and what was left in the tube was enough for two more days.

I rubbed for a long while, feeling the backs of my hands slowly soften. The cream left on my palms I smoothed out as far as my wrists. The white, flaking patches at each finger joint settled down too, and the hangnails beside my nails stung less. It was the first time all day that I had really looked at my own hands. I set the cut tube on a small dish next to the sink. A little white smear of cream had gotten onto the rim of the dish. I took out the lunch box I would carry tomorrow and set it beside my bag.

Today's breath — With hands clasped, rub them slowly and let out one long breath.